


let's perform our favorite little scene

by acid_glue234



Series: you're just another song and dance [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, New York City, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acid_glue234/pseuds/acid_glue234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana looks past Henry with a cheeky smile. Henry turns around in his seat as Rachel enters the shop, and maybe it's just him, but it appears Rachel's entire face lights up when their eyes connect. (Part VI of the "you're just another song and dance" series, Henry's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's perform our favorite little scene

**Author's Note:**

> this (interlude) part of the series basically sets up what Santana will be doing in NY; you didn't think she was gonna be a barista for the rest of her life, did you? ;)

_Dear Henry,_

_I'm in love with my best friend. I know you probably get a lot of letters like this, but I think my situation may be a little different than most. See, my best friend is in the military, and he's about to get deployed in a few weeks. I don't want to drop this kind of bombshell on him right before his deployment, but what if, god forbid, he never comes back and I never get the chance to tell him how I feel? I don't want to think about 'what could've been' for the rest of my life. So, should I tell him, or is it too little too late?_

_Thanks,_

_Gina_  

A career in writing has a weird way of taking you places you never thought you'd end up—and so does falling in love, but he'll elaborate on that analogy later. People think just because you can write, you'll write just about anything, which is semi-true, sure, but only sometimes. Most of the time, writers have preferences, just like any other respected profession.

Surgeons specialize in different parts of the body, like cardiologists who study the heart, or neurosurgeons who dissect the brain. There are lawyers who focus on criminal justice, and then attorneys whose main goal in life is to make Celine Dion as much money as unrealistically possible. There are some models who prefer to strut down the runway, and others who feel more comfortable in enclosed photoshoots with only photographers they're personally close with.

Writers are the same way. There are poets and novelists and playwrights, and then there are journalists, which is what Henry mistakenly found himself doing right out of college. And the crazy thing is, he didn't even study journalism as a seriously liable career choice back in Columbia. His major had been psychology, which didn't really go anywhere for him, other than the whole _Ask Henry_ advice column in the New York Journal.

For Henry, writing has always been a well-loved passion, and that's where journalism comes in. Well, kind of. It's not one of the things he's always dreamt of doing—because that would've included going to grad school and getting his doctorates and becoming a bonafide therapist like Dr. Phil or something, but that didn't happen for lots of reasons; mostly because of, well, money—but he's doing it anyway, all for the cash.

It goes against all of his morals—to do something only for the money and not for the thrill or love of it—but it got to a point where a check at the end of the month was a little more important than having to like, sleep on the streets because he couldn't pay his rent. Morals are going to have to shut up and take a back seat for a while, at least until Henry can get his blog set up, because once that gets super popular and someone discovers what a great short story writer he is, things will definitely start rolling.

(Kurt tells him all the time that if he believes it, he can achieve it. Henry spent a lot of time scoffing at that idea, but maybe that's why nothing's happened for him yet. He's got to start believing in himself before anyone else can, so speaking the future into existence has been his number one priority as of late, even though Santana thinks it's super gay and a waste of his time.)

Despite his overall dislike of writing in the column section of the New York Journal, _Ask Henry_ has somehow become popular over the last three years Henry's worked at the magazine. Because of his advanced knowledge in psychology, he happens to give good advice every now and then. Who knew? But it can be hard sometimes, trying to stay relevant and answer questions honestly, while also not getting too deep, because this is a column in a _magazine_.

It's not the New York Times. Nobody wants to read a psychoanalysis about the human brain and what makes people's ticks tick and functions function. He has to keep it light and cheery, with a few well-placed jokes here, and an example from his own experiences there. Most of the time, it's fairly easy. Like, _too_ easy. There's hardly ever any challenges when it comes to his job—which sometimes makes Henry feel like he's wasting his time by not making a difference or whatever—but then there's days he gets a truly heartfelt letter where he can actually use what he learned in school to help somebody.

Today is that day. As soon as he reads Gina's letter, his mind automatically prints out a mental snapshot of Rachel and Santana. It's practically common knowledge to everyone but Santana how hard Rachel's crushing on her. Henry's wanted to do something about it for weeks, but his boyfriend has told him over and over again that it's up to Rachel whether or not she wants to tell Santana how she feels.

Kurt could be right, sure, but what if Santana feels the same way and all of the heartache Rachel's feeling could so easily be avoided with just one confession? What if Santana is secretly harboring feelings too—Henry likes to think he's good at reading people, but Santana's one of those complicated girls who have so many emotions that it's hard to tell them apart sometimes—and what if Rachel is Gina in this situation and what if she doesn't tell Santana until it's too late?

There's a billion what ifs to consider, but Henry's always been a sucker for happy endings. Just standing by and watching his friends float around each other while knowing they'd be perfect together is pure torture.

"She should tell him," says a voice from behind him, and Henry turns around with a roll of his eyes to find Santana bending forward as she reads over his shoulder.

"Have you no knowledge concerning the common courtesy of privacy?" Henry asks her as she rounds the table and then sits down across from him.

(Santana does this to everyone, really, which sometimes has Henry wondering how she hasn't yet discovered her roommate is crushing on her. She had to have found _something_ of Rachel's by now that would've given it all away. But then again, when it comes to the obvious, Santana is certainly no Nancy Drew.)

She shrugs as she picks at the label of her bottled water. "People are only wary of their business being discovered when there's something to be discovered. Are you hiding something, O'Brien?"

Actually, Henry used to be hiding quite a lot back in high school—his sexuality, for one, as well as his hot and steamy, _secret_ relationship with the quarterback of the football team—but as of late, the only thing he's hiding has nothing to do with him. Well, sort of. It's not his place to tell Santana about Rachel's feelings, so with a wry smile, he pushes his laptop across the table and lets Santana finish reading the letter. Her dark eyes scan the screen, back and forth, for a good fifteen seconds. Then Santana purses her lips, which usually tends to mean she's thinking.

"So?" Henry prompts. "What's the verdict?"

"I guess I get where she's coming from, in a way," Santana says, and that's when Henry distantly remembers the name Brittany, and how Santana's face always seems to lack emotion whenever that notorious name pops up between her and her roommates. That same expression flashes across her face in this moment, but then it's gone in less than point five seconds, and she's contemplative again. "But he's her best friend. Whether he likes her or not, he should still _love_ her regardless. I mean, a friendship like that shouldn't be broken just because someone has feelings for the other or whatever. That's just stupid and extremely annoying."

Henry almost forgets they're talking about Gina's letter, for a moment, his mind more wrapped up in the realization Santana wouldn't even bat an eye if Rachel told her the truth; that's if she's an advocate at taking her own advice, that is.

Henry nods, listening intently as Santana continues on about her point, because as a writer, it's important to hear other people's perspectives and then build on from that. Other's opinions and ideas and theories and advice is the best thing a writer could ask for. An unbiased opinion is extremely valuable, especially when answering such delicately personal questions. If he told this girl to go for it, and it didn't work out, that's on him. But then, if he tells her to zip her lips, and the kid ends up dying in war, that's on him too.

"More than likely, he's in love with her too," Santana says, like she just knows this for a fact. And maybe she does. Santana's been down the whole _I'm in love with my best friend_ route before, though it worked out in her favor; for a while, at least.

Henry knows that success isn't always the outcome when it comes to these sort of things, but Santana's surprisingly smart and sensitive about matters of the heart, so he actually makes an effort to hear her out.

"Maybe it's just me, but you only have one life to live, and if you find someone to love that could quite possibly love you back, you're damn lucky. And who knows? If she _does_ tell him how she feels and he feels the same way, that'll just make him fight that much harder to one day be with her."

Before he can give his opinion, the bell above the entrance door rings, and Santana looks past Henry with a cheeky smile. Henry turns around in his seat as Rachel enters the shop, and maybe it's just him, but it appears Rachel's entire face lights up when their eyes connect. They share a smile and then Rachel breaks their gaze to lift a hand at Henry.

Henry waves back as he tries to suppress a knowing grin. How he had no idea about Rachel's crush on Santana is kind of embarrassing now that he thinks about it. The way Rachel looks at Santana, unable to keep her eyes away for barely even a minute when they're in the same room; it's how Henry feels whenever he and Kurt are together.

Rachel stops by the counter to place her order, and Santana watches her for another moment with an unreadable expression before turning back around in her seat. Henry catches her eye and furrows his brow curiously.

"What?" Santana asks, clearly confused, and Henry starts to wonder whether Santana really is this obtuse, or if she's just containing her feelings for some psychological reason Henry would've known had he managed to stay in school longer.

"Nothing," Henry says, remembering what Kurt told him about letting their friends figure things out for themselves, even though one half of the friendship doesn't even realize there's something to be figured out in the first place.

Rachel comes over eventually, taking a seat next to Santana. She checks her watch and then smirks at her roommate. "I know I've never been in the workforce, but it's _your_ shift, so, I don't know, shouldn't _you_ be working right now?"

Santana smiles, obviously tickled by Rachel's rare use of sarcasm, and then explains, "The boss left me in charge." And the way she says it is kind of hilarious, because she sounds all smug about it, like being left in charge of a rugged coffee shop is something to be proud of. "Besides, Pat's got the register under control, and it's not like there's anyone here."

Henry's eyes cut to the roughly fifteen people milling about; it's not like Cobblestones is a huge shop, so yeah, it's crowded enough, and poor Pat, always shrinking away from Santana's glare and succumbing to her every whim. It's kind of sad and kind of funny at the same time, how anyone could ever be afraid of Santana. She's like, the kindest person you'll ever meet once you break through her hard exterior and get to the soft, squishy insides.

"It took a good ten minutes for Pat to fulfill my order, but if you were back there, it could've been done in like, half that time," Rachel bitches, for no other reason than to just push Santana's buttons.

And then Rachel smiles, because Santana sticks her tongue out at her. The table shakes, and Henry groans; they're playing footsie, again, which is kind of annoying, because they are _so_ a couple without even knowing it. Henry clears his throat to remind them of his presence. Rachel breaks out of their stare first, surprisingly, and then looks at Henry with an inquisitive smile.

"So, what were you guys just talking about?" she asks, and then casually takes a sip from her drink.

"I'm helping this guy here," Santana gestures to him with a flick of her wrist," with his _Ask Henry_ letters. The people who write him are so irritating and needy it makes my breasts swell with agitation just thinking about it."

Rachel raises an eyebrow, her interest peaked, so Henry reopens his email and then slides the laptop across the table. After reading the letter, Rachel crinkles her nose and then says, "This is just a disaster waiting to happen."

It's the same thing Henry thought after reading the letter. It seems like no big deal at first glance, but when you include the consequences—war and death; pretty heavy stuff—into the mix, and when you consider how it could affect both parties, it's a funky kind of situation. What if the kid dies and Gina never gets to tell her best friend how she feels? What if she does tell him and he goes off to war confused and distracted?

(Granted, Henry doesn't know their entire past, and that could definitely play a role in how he would answer the letter, but it's also important to look at the situation from an unbiased perspective. He's got the facts and that's what he has to work with.)

"A disaster?" Santana reiterates, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"

"She—" Rachel stammers, which doesn't really happen often, unless she's with Santana, and well. "Gina is going into this completely blind, quite possibly putting her heart and her best friend's life on the line. She needs to just protect everyone by keeping her feelings to herself."

Santana looks at Rachel like she doesn't even recognize her. "Who the hell are you, and what did you do with my Rachel?" she says, cocking her head to the side, but Henry can kind of understand what Rachel means in a weird parallel way. Santana? Not so much. "He probably likes her too, and they've been annoyingly avoiding the subject for years to keep from damaging the friendship, but this is the fucking breaking point. She may never see him again, and it's definitely something he should know before going off to a fucking war."

Henry's about to interrupt and suggest that maybe Santana try to reword or sensor her obscene language, because there's a little girl and her mother sitting at the table right behind them—and when Santana gets passionate about something, the volume of her voice tends to rise, so she's talking louder than usual right now—but before he can even open his mouth, Rachel cuts him off, arguing, "But what if he _doesn't_ feel the same way and goes into war in more ways than one—both emotionally and physically? The last thing he needs to be thinking about is some girl who has a crush on him when he's fighting for his country."

Santana purses her lips and then presses her palms down flat on the table. Uh-oh. "But what better fight is there than the fight for love? What ends violence? Love. What stops war? _Love_ ," she says, huffily. "I think it's a great mindset to go into war with. Love conquers all—or whatever that stupid bullshit Shakespeare says..."

Santana's diatribe trails off into a bunch of muttering as she bows her head, round cheeks aglow with a pretty pink blush. Henry and Rachel share a quick look and then stare at Santana for a moment, until she looks back up at them testily.

"What?" she snaps.

Henry smiles, a little disbelievingly. "Wow. That was really...something, Santana. I had no idea you could be so poetic."

Santana only grunts in acknowledgement and then narrows her eyes on Rachel warningly. "Say one fucking word, Berry, and I swear to God you'll be making your own damn breakfast for the rest—"

"Santana, there's a mother and her child sitting right there," Rachel whispers in exasperation, and then pauses to smile apologetically at the duo when the woman leans over to cover her daughter's ears. "I'm sure you're aware there's more appropriate words to use at your disposal."

Santana at least has the decency to mouth _sorry_ to the mother before shifting forward in her seat. "Bad habits die hard," she tells them, shrugging a shoulder, and then ironically adds, "I could really use a smoke right now."

\--

_Dear Henry,_

_I have a friend who is confused about his sexuality, but he's afraid to ask me for help. I've been through the same thing, but I don't want to bring it up first just in case he's not ready to come out. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Kyle_

Henry's always been known to be—how to put this?—incredibly spontaneous. He doesn't do it on purpose, obviously, but once his mind gets set on an idea, he goes with it before thinking over the pros and cons like any sensible person would do.

He also knows Kurt's been a bit weary of how fast they're moving. They've technically been dating for only three months and two weeks, and they've already said the L word, which some people can't say throughout their entire romantic relationship.

Henry's never understood that. If you love someone, you should tell them, never mind gender or age or position. If Henry was in love with his boss, he'd tell him—because he's impulsive like that—and then probably get fired an hour later. If Henry had a crush on his best friend, he'd tell him too, because secrets suck and Henry's really, really bad at keeping them, even when they're his own.

That's why, when they're all out to eat at Kurt's favorite sushi bar Saturday night, Rachel asks, "How did you guys know you were gay," when Santana's in the bathroom, and Henry almost blurts out everything—like how they know she's struggling with her bisexuality, and how they know she's got it bad for Santana, and how it doesn't have to be this hard if only she got everything off her chest. But Kurt grips Henry's thigh underneath the table before he can even utter a word.

Kurt gives Henry a subtle look that basically says _if you say one word, no sex for a week_ before explaining to Rachel that he's always known—he also says something about Polly Pocket and a Ken doll that probably goes right over Rachel’s head.

Rachel looks to Henry next, but he doesn't know what to say—and technically he's not even allowed to say _anything_ anyway—but Rachel's gazing up at him with that pouty face she gets when she's curious, and Henry's lived without sex before. It's bad, but it's not _too_ bad.

"I always knew there was something different about me," Henry says, resting a hand on top of Kurt's, which is still squeezing his thigh, but comfortingly now. "In high school, I used to date girls but it just never felt right. I would always find myself checking out the football players rather than the cheerleaders."

Kurt chuckles softly and then turns his hand over so that their fingers can interlock. "He even dated the quarterback of the football team for a high school beat," he says, amused, and Henry rolls his eyes at the memory. That was quite a time.

By the end of junior year, he had come out and almost everyone in school knew he was gay, including the quarterback of the football team. _He_ wasn't out, though, so they carried on a secret relationship for a year and a half before they were caught necking in one of the shower stalls by a janitor.

"The quarterback, huh?" Santana snickers, sliding back into the booth beside Rachel. "Sweet nostalgia. I remember those days."

"So do I," both Kurt and Rachel say in unison.

"You never dated a quarterback, Kurt," Santana tells him.

"Neither did you."

"Well, I slept with a few, so that should count for something."

"If I remember correctly, wasn't it _you_ who said sex isn't dating?" Kurt wonders, and then Santana gets this look on her face, and— _Brittany_.

It's obvious to everyone sitting at the table that Santana's still in love with her. First loves and high school sweethearts are tricky things to maneuver and compartmentalize. It's been an entire decade since Henry's last seen his quarterback, but even after years of nothing, he still gets a melancholy feeling when thinking about how their relationship came to an end. The only reason he can so easily talk about it now is because it's been so long since then.

Shifting in her seat, Rachel clears her throat and then quickly changes the subject. "So, there's this new girl in my dance class, and—"

"Is she hot?"

"Santana, is that really the first thing your mind jumps to?" Rachel exasperates, but then Santana smiles all cutely and nudges their shoulders together and she's immediately forgiven, because a silly Santana is adorable when she's not acting like a little devil. Rachel rolls her eyes away from her best friend. "Anyway," she says with a giggle, scooting away from Santana in order to concentrate on what she's saying. "Her name is Gwen, and she's in my dance class—"

"Gwen is a hot name." 

"Must you interrupt every story I tell?"

"You're cute when I get on your nerves," Santana coos teasingly, and Henry fails to see how that's a compliment, but it's obvious Rachel takes it that way by the flush in her cheeks as she smiles down at the table.

Kurt groans, only loud enough for Henry to hear, and Henry can't really blame his boyfriend right now. He almost misses the days when they would argue obsessively—which they still do, of course—but be careful what you wish for, because the bickering doesn't stop there, and it's not until their food is served does Santana shut up long enough for Rachel to finally finish telling her story.

"So, Gwen has a crush on Daniel, and Angela's been trying to get him to ask her out," Rachel explains, stabbing at her carrots with a fork, and then mumbles out, "but he's still kind of hung up on me."

Santana scoffs through a laugh. "That kid really needs to move on."

"It's not always that easy, Santana," Kurt defends.

"I know that." Santana narrows her eyes on Kurt, annoyed. "But Rachel's way out of his league, and it's annoying when people don't take no for an answer."

Henry nods as he shovels a forkful of rice into his mouth, chews, and then swallows. "I kind of have to agree with Santana on that front," he admits, smiling sheepishly when Kurt gives him a look. "I mean, relentless ambition can get sorta pathetic after a while. Especially when hope turns into denial, you know?"

"Well, I for one commend him for his effort and admire his intense pursuit," Kurt says, and Santana rolls her eyes so hard Henry's surprised she doesn't pull a muscle in the back of her neck. "I know you're not exactly a romantic, Santana, but some people enjoy a relationship rather than a simple one night stand."

Santana squints and then shakes her head. "You are making no type of sense right now, Hummel. I _can_ do relationships. I did one for a whole fucking year before life screwed me over, remember?" she says, side-eyeing Rachel for help, and goodness gracious, this is getting painful to watch. "Besides, Rachel doesn't even like Daniel, and she's told him that straight up like fifteen times already."

Rachel bows her head and then breathes out a sigh. "Fifteen times might be a slight exaggeration, but Santana's right. She understands the ups and downs of a relationship just as well as any of us," she says, messing with her bangs as a distraction. "Daniel's a great guy, but I'd rather be with someone less pushy and more...laid back. Someone willing to be my biggest fan and toughest critic, while also just _being there_ at the end of the day when I need them."

The way everyone is talking in circles is really starting to get confusing. Are they even talking about this Gwen girl and Daniel anymore, or is this hypothetically about Santana and Rachel? He glances at his boyfriend for confirmation, and Kurt nods subtly. Okay, so, hypothetical. Henry clears his throat and then says, "Regardless if Santana's a romantic or not—"

"Which I could totally be if I really felt like it—"

"—some people want different things, and Rachel probably wants somebody more..." Henry trails off, searching for the right word, a word that won't totally clue Rachel into the fact that they know, "...in touch with their feminine side?"

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and then shakes his head as Santana looks around the table in confusion. "Feminine..." she drawls, and Rachel focuses her eyes back and forth between Henry and Kurt so fast that it's kind of impossible for Santana not to notice. "Wait, what's going—what the fuck is happening right now?"

"Nothing. Never mind," Kurt sighs, knocking his knee against Henry's, and Henry shrugs, because apparently _feminine_ was the wrong choice of words and perhaps a little too obvious.

Rachel looks at them steadily, blinking slowly as if she's trying to put two and two together, and then hastily excuses herself from the table, making a beeline to the ladies’ room.

"Fucking _Christ_ —" Santana mutters, hesitating for only a beat before shooting out of her seat.

"Um." Henry scratches at his stubble with a sheepish smile as he watches Santana trail after Rachel through the restaurant. "So, that went well."

Kurt shakes his head with a tiny smirk. "I'd say."

\--

_Dear Henry,_

_I've been feeling pretty stuck lately. Same old job, same old hobbies, same old life. I've always loved painting. Since I was eight, it's been my dream to become an artist, but my parents have always taught me to do what's practical. Except now I'm starting to resent their advice. Is it too late to rediscover an old passion and finally see what I'm capable of?_

_All the best,_

_Ricky_

It's not gay that he insists on participating in annual pre-spring cleaning. Even if he _wasn't_ gay, Henry would still keep his apartment clean. It's a thing he does, and it can be very relaxing when under a lot of stress, okay? Is that really so hard to believe?

So, he's a little aggravated today, but that's only because Kurt is totally avoiding him. They were supposed to clean his apartment together, but all of a sudden Kurt had to go to campus and help Cole finish up stitching on the costumes for Hairspray.

It's a valid excuse, he guesses, but that doesn't make up for the fact Kurt sent Santana over in his place. Moody, brooding Santana who is the messiest person he's ever met and dislikes cleaning more than she dislikes Finn Hudson, and apparently she really doesn't like that dude.

(Kurt's told him a little about their high school history, but it all just gets kind of confusing after sophomore year—the whole _I used to be in love with my step-brother, but then my ex-frenemy started dating him before he outed one of my current roommates_ —and regretfully, Henry had just tuned out and pretended to listen as he watched the basketball game. Rude? Very. But it was the fourth quarter and the Knicks were down by two with only thirteen seconds left on the clock. Priorities, you know?)

Santana's rifling through a dusty cardboard box, sneezing every now and then as Henry pushes his old, fabric couch back and forth from wall to wall, trying to figure out where it would look better once the spring actually starts. (He's been reading up on some informative psychology blog sites about feng shui and how changes can be very therapeutic for the soul.)

Henry wipes at his brow and then rolls his eyes when Santana starts badgering him about manning up and asking Kurt to move in with him so that she can have his corner of the loft.

"I would if I could," Henry says, because he's been hinting at Kurt to move in with him for weeks now. Either Kurt's ignoring every sign Henry gives him, or he's really just that self-involved. "As you know, Kurt likes to move at his own pace. When he's ready to take that next step, we'll take it, but until then, we'll live separately and I'll just have to suck it up _like a man_."

Santana straightens and then pops her shoulder with a grunt. "I hate how sensible you are sometimes. What happened to the impulsive Henry who'd see a tattoo parlor, and then come home with a tiny light bulb on his wrist?" she asks, and Henry frowns as he tugs down on the sleeve of his sweater. "What happened to the Henry who'd pass a jewelry store on his way home from work and then randomly buy his man super expensive bling? Don't let Kurt bore you into making smart and sound decisions in life, Red. That's not you."

Henry plops down on his rickety couch and then squeezes the bridge of his nose. "The most difficult thing in life is to know yourself," he recites tiredly. "Thales." 

"Such a literature nerd," Santana mutters distractedly, and after a beat of silence, Henry looks over into the kitchen to find her flipping through one of his reference books, but he can't really see which one it is from where he's sitting. 

"Whatcha got there?"

Knowing Santana, it could be anything. That girl tends to snoop around and find the weirdest shit. Like, once when they were sitting in the hospital waiting room—what can he say; he's a klutz—Santana had peeked under her chair to find a paper brown bag full of at least a thousand dollars. They turned the money in, of course, but when do you ever hear about somebody finding money unless it's on the news, or like, in a Denzel Washington movie?

Santana purses her lips and then flips back to the cover. "Screenwriting for Dummies," she reads aloud, putting the book down for a moment so that she can heft herself up onto the counter.

Henry just wiped down that surface about a half hour ago, but Santana's thoughtful expression stops him from telling her to get down.

"You know, I once took Creative Writing as an elective in middle school, and for a semester we worked on screenwriting. My teacher told me that my script was one of the best in class," she says casually, but Henry's not blind; he sees the quirk in her lip that suggests a hint of smugness. "It was never my dream or anything, but it was something I was good at, and...writing was one of my first loves until I—well, until I put it on the back burner for cheerleading."

Henry dabbled in screenwriting for a while too, until he realized his true calling was more in short stories and poetry than screenwriting. Since he still hasn't gotten the opportunity to fully live out his dreams of being a best-selling author, Henry tells Santana that she should pick writing up again. Who knows? Maybe it's her calling. Maybe she can find love in something Henry never got the chance to explore. Or maybe it'll just distract Santana long enough to let Henry clean up his apartment the _right_ way.

Before leaving, Santana asks him to borrow the book, and Henry says, "Go ahead. S'not like I'll be writing any award-winning scripts anytime soon."

But Santana doesn't just read through the reference book; she completely _devours_ it. Two days later, Henry gets a text from her asking if he knows anything else about screenwriting. He doesn't, so they go to the library, and Santana takes out as many books as she can and even gets so inspired that she starts writing her very own story in this software program she downloaded online.

(Santana basically dives in head first—a thing she tends to do with almost every new hobby she picks up—and she even starts marathon watching old movies on TCM and purchasing movie classics from this shady guy who sells pirated films out the back of his truck.)

Henry's got to admit, though; he'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little bit envious of Santana's sudden ambition. It's been awhile since he was last bitten by the inspiration bug, and yeah, he's been lacking in motivation lately when it comes to writing, but hell if it's writer’s block.

(Writer’s block is just a myth anyway; something writers use when they're either too tired or annoyed to write anything. Henry's not exactly struggling to find inspiration, because he's actually been working on the same novel for a good eight months now, but just the thought that his book may never even go anywhere tends to put a damper on his mood right along with his passion to write.)

The only thing that seems to keep his ideas fresh nowadays is by answering the letters in his email for the _Ask Henry_ column. But with Santana's renewed vigor for something she gave up a long time ago in exchange for popularity—and boys she didn't even want—comes a paternal instinct to nurture this talent and become her mentor.

And she really is a good writer. So far, Santana's only written a good twenty minutes of script, but she already has great character development, intense dialogue, and a plot line that'll keep the watcher/reader on the edge of their seat.

Santana even confides in him about going back to school—he decides not to mention the fact she technically never really went to school in the first place, because can one week really even count as _going to school_?—to study Electronic Media and Film, but unfortunately her parents would never go for it.

"We've been talking recently, and my mom wants me to take business classes while my dad wants me to study medicine," she explains, reclining back in his old chair that's not even supposed to recline like that. "But I'd rather work at Cobblestones with Pat for the rest of my life than study something I'm not even interested in. It's always a fucking ultimatum with them, especially my mom.”

From what Henry's hearing, creativity is where Santana's heart lies, but neither of her parents' options include creativity. They're paying for her education, so it's their choice overall, unless she takes out a billion loans—which Henry knows is a nightmare for any student trying to work out a secondary education all on their own—so it's either that or nothing.

What to do, what to do? 

\--

_Dear Henry,_

_I'm a very friendly person, so I have a lot of friends. An old friend—let's call him John—has been in my life since high school, but a new friend—let's call her Jane—is like the total opposite of me, but somehow we just click. The problem is they don't like each other. In my circle of friends it's really difficult having two people that don't get along. They mess up the entire chemistry of the group. So, should I talk to them both individually and then together to see how we can get this straightened out? Or is it a lost cause?_

_Your loyal subscriber,_

_Delilah_

Santana gets four tickets from Angela—who everyone still secretly believes is a mob boss' daughter, yet Henry has no idea how the hell that rumor got started—to the 2013 New York Film Festival. She invites Henry and then gives him a ticket to bring whoever he wants, but Kurt has an Adam's Apples rehearsal—and it's super important, apparently, because this is the last rehearsal before the big show—so Henry brings Lawrence instead, much to Santana's distaste.

Santana brings Rachel along to keep the peace and also because she doesn't know anybody else in this city except for the regulars at Cobblestones and her co-worker, Pat, but Rachel's clearly confused on why they're even going to a film festival instead of somewhere more practical, like Broadway or something, because apparently Santana has yet to share her new love for screenwriting with her roommate.

Henry hates butting in, but he's also kind of tired of keeping unnecessary secrets, so he tells Rachel that Santana's turning into a movie buff. It's not the entire truth, but it's not a lie either.

They go to the film festival and have a good time, despite the constant glaring and silent animosity between Lawrence and Santana. It's no secret Santana doesn't like Lawrence. No one really likes Lawrence unless they knew him before he started acting like an ass.

Unfortunately, Lawrence is a botched outcome of the heartbreak cycle—bad guy hurts good girl, good girl becomes bad chick, bad chick hurts good boy, good boy becomes bad guy—and nobody gets that more than Henry. He got hurt by a bad boy once too. You guessed it. His quarterback. And that janitor who caught them? Yeah, the dude turned out to be a total homophobic bastard and then told the coach of the football team, a real bruiser of a man who could smell fear in a person's body odor.

Henry's relationship with his quarterback wasn't exactly serious, but they did care about each other. Well, at least Henry thought they did up until the football coach threatened to out his own player unless he manned up and dumped his _guilty pleasure_.

But because Henry has an outlet in his writing, he got all of that damaged regret out of his system before it could turn into something cold and bitter. Lawrence, on the other hand...well, everyone heals in their own way within their own crunch of time.

Lawrence tries to hit on Rachel, like he does with every breathing person he sets his eyes on, but Santana is very protective of Rachel and adamantly warns him to, "Keep your grimy hands off my homegirl, or else I'll knee you in the ballsacks."

Henry has to come in between them at least five times before they even get off the subway, but Lawrence is harmless. All he really is, is an innocent troublemaker who doesn't know how to keep his big mouth shut.

Henry's known him since their freshmen year in college when they were in the same Perception & Cognition class at Columbia University. They've been through a lot together, and Henry knows the old Lawrence is still in there somewhere, so he can't give up on him now. And they still have good times, despite Lawrence's personality shift.

Watching the game on Sunday nights has been a weekly ritual since they graduated back in 2010. Eating out at Barney's between Bleecker and West 4th Street every second week of the month remains Henry's favorite part of the month. When they're together, it's just Hank and Larry. They're just stupid college kids again, and heartbreak doesn't exist for a while.

When they enter the auditorium, Henry makes sure to snag the seat between his oldest and newest friend before they wind up next to each other, snipping back and forth the entire showcase. Rachel tries to distract Santana with a pamphlet she picked up at the entrance, and Henry breathes out a sigh of relief as he scrolls through the recent emails on his phone.

He faintly eavesdrops (but not on purpose) as Santana talks to Rachel, spewing on and on about directors and screenwriters and new movies and film noir and old black and white flicks. The girl sure knows her stuff, and it seems Henry's not the only one impressed. Rachel looks to be in total awe of her roommate as they talk with their heads bent super close, smiling and giggling together.

"If those two aren't banging in the sack, then the law of lesbianism is no more," Lawrence whispers at his ear, startling Henry into sitting up straight in his seat.

"Um. What does that even _mean_?"

Lawrence smirks and then shakes his head. "Two friends who look at each other like that," he drawls, elbowing Henry in the arm with a sly expression. "I know that look. It's the look you'd always wear right before we'd—"

"Yeah, okay," Henry cuts him off, averting his eyes to a point over Lawrence's shoulder, because he knows _the look_ his friend is talking about, and while he doesn't regret the friends with benefits situation they used to have, it's still an awkward subject to discuss, especially here in public.

"So?" Lawrence prompts, raising his bushy eyebrows.

"So," Henry frowns in confusion, "...what?"

"Are they doing the dirty...bumping uglies...blending the milkshake...vacuuming that lady rug?"

Henry grimaces and then glances to his left to make sure Santana and Rachel aren't listening to this idiotic conversation. "I'm pretty sure those last two analogies aren't even common expressions," he says, before leaning sideways to add, "And no, I highly doubt they're..."

"Naughtily trespassing on private property?"

"Sure, _that_ ," Henry dismisses with a laugh, shaking his head as the lights in the theatre start to dim.

Lawrence grins mischievously and then deliberately narrows his eyes two seats down from them. Henry follows his friend's line of vision, and Santana's still whispering into Rachel's ear, probably explaining everything she knows about the short films nominated this year.

Henry smiles to himself for a moment—because they're kind of incredibly adorable together—before nudging Lawrence in the shoulder. His buddy chuckles under his breath with a wiggle of his eyebrows and then focuses his eyes on the screen. 

\--

_Dear Henry,_

_I have a cousin who's a great designer, but she's afraid to pursue a career in fashion because of the very slim odds of actually making it big in that profession. I tell her all the time that her work is great and that she should really consider going to school for fashion and design, but then there's her parents, who continue to dissuade her passion for fashion every day. Should I continue to motivate her to follow her dreams, or am I wasting my breath?_

_Toodles,_

_Georgie_

They meet up a couple times in the beginning of February to talk about Santana's screenplay, because Henry agreed to look over the draft and edit it for her. They go over character development and storylines and plot twists, and even come up with a timeline for the main plot to help organize the script.

Santana really has some good ideas and the overall premise is very intriguing. By the way things are going, Henry might even consider publishing Santana's screenplay once he gets his own publication company off the ground and running. He also tells her to get it copyrighted so nobody will steal her ideas if she's ever so inclined to share her script to gain other outside opinions, and then he stays over for dinner because he's starving and Kurt's making his favorite meal tonight.

They eat in the living area, with everyone all sprawled out every which way. Kurt and Henry lounge on the couch, Kurt's head on Henry's shoulder as he feeds him a forkful of crab cakes. Rachel sits in Kurt's armchair, and Santana leans back against Rachel's legs as they all watch a program about extraterrestrials and whether or not their society would be able to be run equally with these new beings in tow.

It's a fascinating idea, living peacefully with a bunch of aliens, but Henry doesn't exactly find the theory logical. There's barely any equality _now_ with the people who are from this very planet, so accepting an entirely different species is just mad. Humankind have always feared what they don't know and/or understand, which leads Henry to believe the government would easily cover up the existence of aliens and then put them into some kind of concentration camp to kill them off.

That's Henry's theory, at least. Rachel thinks it would go exactly how _Independence Day_ went down; Santana believes they could all live in harmony together and sing _Kumbaya_ —it's sometimes hard to tell whether or not she's being sarcastic—and Kurt agrees with Henry's theory, because he's more of a practical thinker, and well...this kind of scares Henry because like, since when did he become _practical_? A fictitious writer's biggest fear is realism. Imagination feeds the soul (and pays the bills), so maybe that's why Henry's been having such a tough time dusting the cobwebs out of his brain cavity.

After dinner, they all clean up their dishes, and while everyone munches on their desserts, Santana takes out her Mac and starts typing away. Henry can practically see the ideas flowing out of her mind, through her fingertips, and on to the bright page before her. It's a marvelous sight—to watch somebody with a passion so intense that they can barely stop what they're doing to eat a piece of chocolate cake.

Eyebrows furrowed, Rachel nosily hovers over Santana's shoulder, but every time she gets too close, Santana swivels sideways and says, "If I can't read your diary, you can't read my masterpiece."

And then Rachel nudges Santana in the back with her foot and mutters, "Not a diary. It's a journal." But that just goes right in one of Santana's ears and out the other. Her attention is more focused on whatever clever dialogue she's thinking up for one of her main characters.

Henry smiles to himself and then cuddles closer to Kurt when the next episode of _Extra-Terrestrial_ starts up. He stretches through a yawn, and has never been so glad tonight's a Friday. The _Ask Henry_ letters have been coming in like pouring rain lately; there are just so many people with so many problems, and don't these subscribers have friends, or like, a _family_ to ask these questions to? Henry is only one man with one brain. He doesn't have the answer to everything. He's not God. If he was, he'd make it so that gay marriage was legal everywhere, but yeah, that's a story for another day.

Rachel's quiet now, arms folded over her chest as she pretends to watch the program, but her brown eyes are blankly gazing at Santana, of course. Henry's the only one who has seen any of what Santana's written, so Rachel shouldn't beat herself up over being left out. It's quite possible Santana's just self-conscious about her work and wants to make sure it's perfect before the grand unveiling. (Santana tells Rachel pretty much everything anyway, from what Kurt's told him, so this is probably just something Santana wants to surprise Rachel with, perhaps. Maybe. Really, who knows when it comes to Santana.)

Henry pokes Kurt in the arm and then juts his chin in their friends' direction. He can't see Kurt's expression, but he can tell his boyfriend is smiling by the levity in his tone when he puts his lips to Henry's ear and whispers, "By the intense way Rachel's staring, I'm surprised a hole hasn't burned through the side of Santana's skull yet. She really is dumb to feelings, isn't she?"

Henry swats at Kurt's thigh with a laugh, but he does really wish something would happen between Santana and Rachel where they could just be a couple already—because not only does Henry want double dates galore, but a cool lesbian couple to hang out with would be awesome. He's been a part of the gay community in Bushwick forever, practically, and he's still never managed to befriend a lesbian couple. What is life anyway without a group of lovely lesbians to share crazy anecdotes about straight people with, right?

Henry gets up from the couch after a while to relieve himself, but when he opens the bathroom door back up, Rachel's leaning against the far wall, waiting for him, it seems. She tries to get the information about Santana's _secret_ out of him, but Henry just tells Rachel that it's not his place to say anything.

"She's been writing a lot in her laptop recently," Rachel murmurs, glancing down the short hallway before looking back up at Henry with those bright doe eyes of hers. "Is it—she's not like, keeping a virtual diary or anything, right? I mean, is she? And if she is, am I in it?"

So, yeah, it's pretty clear Rachel has some twisted idea that whatever Santana's writing in her Mac has something to do with her. Henry doesn't want to let Rachel down, or burst her bubble, or whatever—because it's totally not about her, like at all—so instead he says, "I would tell you, Rach, believe me, but I mentally signed an NDA, and am therefore not allowed to comment. Sorry, hon."

He then slips on past, feeling super bad about how bad Rachel's probably feeling right now. (And if Rachel murders him in his sleep for signing that mental NDA, he's totally coming back to haunt Santana for making Rachel so crazy about her.)

He plops down on the couch next to Kurt with a sigh, and when his boyfriend asks him what's wrong, Henry can only shake his head in response.

He doesn't like secrets. They make him nervous, and sometimes he wishes Kurt never even told him about Rachel and Santana's unbalanced friendship, because now all he can do is wonder and wait for them to figure their shit out before they can all finally go out on double dates together. That pro probably shouldn't be what's on the forefront of his mind, but what can he say? Falling in love has a weird way of taking you places you never thought you'd end up.


End file.
